


Transformation

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Cliche, First Time, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Don’t worry, sir. I promise not to steal the duvet.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transformation

**Author's Note:**

> I was sent to a conference for work that involved an overnight stay in an hotel. While there, I decided to entertain myself by putting Lewis and Hathaway in my position.
> 
> There is nothing particularly new or profound here - it was just for fun, and a bit of a departure from my usual brand of angsty fluff (:

“I can’t work out what it is we did this time. Or _didn’t_ do.”

“What’s that, sir?” Hathaway raised a curious eyebrow at his governor from across the bar’s scuffed table.

“To deserve this punishment.” Lewis gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding his pint, indicating their surroundings, signifying their current situation. “We must have done _something_ to piss Innocent off.”

Lewis noted the twitch at the corner of Hathaway’s mouth, the sole giveaway of his sergeant’s amusement in an otherwise blank expression.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Perhaps she just believes it will compliment our existing knowledge and benefit our continuing education as exemplary police officers.”

“Bollocks. What is it they say about old dogs and new tricks? I fell asleep halfway through all that rambling nonsense.”

This time, Hathaway had to hide his smile behind his pint glass. It had only been a jab in the ribs that had prevented Lewis dropping off, and if the less than thrilling subject matter of the introductory lecture was any indication of things to come, Lewis didn’t hold out much hope of making it to the end of the conference, let alone learning anything.

“Don’t worry, sir. If you start to snore, I’ll give you another nudge.”

“Not one of a bagman’s typical duties, but I appreciate it, Sergeant.”

“Anything for you, sir.”

Hathaway gave Lewis a small, enigmatic smile that Lewis couldn’t interpret and slouched back in his chair.

The unfortunately dull topics of discussion weren’t entirely to blame for Lewis’s inability to stay alert in the too-warm, soporific environment of the conference hall. Their journey had taken almost twice as long as it ideally should have due to an accident on the motorway that been relatively minor but had somehow caused tailbacks for miles, as these things were wont to do, with Lewis also suffering the dubious pleasure of having agreed to give Hathaway sole control over the in-car entertainment.

They had arrived a few minutes into the introductory speeches and had quietly slipped into the back of the hall hoping their tardiness hadn’t been noticed. Unfortunately, Lewis had the feeling that word had already made its way back to Innocent, the detail stored away by the Chief Super for later discussion.

“Right,” Lewis announced, draining his glass and placing it heavily back onto the table. The effects of the long day were beginning to assert themselves; he was getting too old for all this gallivanting about. “If I’m to have any chance of taking anything in tomorrow, I’m going to need some sleep.”

“Think I’ll call it a night too,” Hathaway said, contemplating the last few inches of his pint.

“There’s no need. At least finish your drink first.”

Hathaway raised his glass and those final few inches disappeared in one smooth motion of his throat. “Done.” His glass joined Lewis’s on the table and he pushed himself to his feet, leaving Lewis following in his wake, wondering at his sergeant’s decision to join him so keenly.

****

“One room? Now I _know_ Innocent has some kind of grievance with us,” Lewis complained as he trudged up the stairs in search of their room.

Hathaway, on his heels, sounded perfectly reasonable when he replied. “She explained that, sir. There wasn’t much left available at such short notice.”

The sudden influx of police officers had left the hotel fully booked, that was true, but Lewis still harboured the opinion that Innocent had taken some kind of perverse pleasure in making the reservation. It was lucky the pair of them got on well; the prospect of sharing quarters with any other officer would have left Lewis in a far grumpier mood.

They had been running so late upon arrival they had barely had time to check in before dashing off to the presentation, and they had had to leave their bags in the care of a porter at reception so they wouldn’t have to lug them to the conference hall. Then, after getting the introductory speeches out of the way, Lewis and Hathaway had, by mutual agreement, decided that enjoying a leisurely pint or two took precedence over retrieving their bags and unpacking.

Their diversion did mean that neither man had yet seen the room, but the hotel looked swanky enough that Lewis imagined it would be a decent space for a short stay. One thing he hadn’t expected, however, was the sight that greeted him when he slipped his key card into the slot and pushed the door open.

Lewis stopped so abruptly Hathaway collided with his back.

“Sir, what…?”

The sergeant’s voice trailed off as he looked past Lewis’s shoulder and spotted what it was that had halted the Inspector in his tracks; there was only one bed in the room. A nice, comfortable, welcoming double bed, but just the one.

“Bloody Innocent.”

“I doubt this was her fault, sir. It was probably the only room still available.”

Lewis gave a disbelieving snort in response as Hathaway slipped past him and dropped his holdall beside the little sofa squatting against the wall.

“Don’t worry, sir. I promise not to steal the duvet.”

The smile Lewis detected in Hathaway’s voice didn’t make him feel any more at ease with the idea of sharing a bed with his sergeant. In fact, James seemed to be enjoying his discomfort a little too much. But when he turned back to Lewis - who was still standing just inside the door like a fool – his expression was all innocent neutrality.

“Would you like to use the facilities first, sir?”

Spurred into action at the reminder of his beer-filled bladder, Lewis finally ventured into the room. “Uh, yes. Thanks.”

While taking care of the business of relieving himself, brushing his teeth, and changing into his pyjamas, Lewis wondered why he was acting like a bloody virginal nun about the sleeping arrangements. He was sure he and Hathaway could act like the grown men they were and get past the awkwardness, and by the time he left the cupboard-sized bathroom, the initial shock had passed and he was feeling more relaxed.

Upon his return, Hathaway gathered his limbs from their spread-eagled positions on the sofa and took himself into the recently vacated bathroom while Lewis claimed the sofa. Switching on the television, he flicked idly through the channels in hope of finding the football results and had become distracted by a repeat of an old seventies cop show when Hathaway reappeared.

The sergeant was wearing pyjama bottoms and a comfortably-worn t-shirt; it struck Lewis, not for the first time, how much younger James looked when in a getup other than his usual work suits. Then, afraid he was staring, he turned back to the car chase on the screen.

“Which side would you prefer?”

The question surprised Lewis. “Sorry?”

“Of the bed,” Hathaway elaborated for the benefit of Lewis’s tired brain.

“Oh…the right, I suppose.” Taking his habits into consideration wasn’t something he usually had to do, but it seemed Hathaway was just as attentive as always. Clicking the TV off again, Lewis pushed himself up from his seat.

“You can finish watching that if you like, sir. Don’t stop on my behalf.”

“Nah, nothing much on, anyway.” Lewis switched off the main room light and pulled the curtains shut before getting into bed, deliberately keeping his gaze from the bed’s other resident as he did so.

“Goodnight, sir.” Hathaway’s voice was surprisingly close as he doused his bedside light, sending the room into a dusky darkness.

“’Night, pet.”

It was only several minutes later, as he drifted on the edge of sleep, that Lewis realised what he had said.

****

It was still nighttime when Lewis stirred, blinking open his eyes onto a darkness that was more a shadowy greyness thanks to the smudge of light creeping past the edges of the curtains and under the door. His foggy, half-awake brain struggled to determine what it was that had drawn him up from the depths of sleep.

As the fog began to lift and he registered the weight of the arm resting across his abdomen, he was jolted back to a fully alert consciousness.

It wasn’t only an arm. The entire long, lean, warm body of his sergeant was stretched out alongside him and he could feel the soft puffs of regular breaths against his neck.

Frozen with surprise, Lewis wondered what he was supposed to do now. A part of him wanted to stay right where he was, go back to sleep and pretend he’d never even noticed. But he couldn’t let the lad suffer the embarrassment he would surely feel when he, too, eventually woke to find himself in such a position with his governor. Extricating himself from the embrace, however, would prove tricky if he didn’t want to disturb James; he was almost at the edge of the mattress as it was, and any attempt to carefully slide further away would likely see him landing gracelessly on the floor.

The voice that was advocating the option to go back to sleep spoke up again, warm and comfortable as he was, and just let the situation resolve itself.

No, he couldn’t do that to the lad. He would get up, maybe under the guise of a visit to the – 

His train of thought was derailed as the arm began to move, its southerly direction sending a spark of panic, and something else he would rather not stop to identify, shooting through him. As James’s hand met a patch of bare skin, revealed where his pyjama top had bunched up a little, Lewis caught hold of it, halting its progress. His voice sounded far too hoarse when he spoke.

“James.”

A languid stirring beside him told him James was awake. He assumed the man would pull his arm back and move away. Instead, he felt long fingers curl against his stomach, making his muscles twitch and sending a shock straight to his groin.

“ _James_.” This time his voice held a warning. Didn’t the lad know what he was doing? Lewis didn’t want to consider what was likely to happen if Hathaway kept this up; he needed time to understand his own reaction.

“Shit. Sorry.”

James was suddenly gone from his side, fully awake and perched on the edge of the bed, head bowed and refusing to look at Lewis. When he eventually spoke, his voice was quiet and missing its usual assured tone. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“You can’t do that, man. That thing’s too small and hardly comfortable.”

“It’s for the best.” James made to rise, but Lewis placed a hand on his back and the sergeant froze.

“Stay put.” Lewis didn’t mean it to sound like a command, but it made James glance over his shoulder, expression as bloody unreadable as usual. What was clear to Lewis was that he had given James the impression he was warning him off, then immediately ordered him to do otherwise. He inwardly winced; talk about mixed signals. If only he could get his own thoughts in order, perhaps he would stand a chance at rescuing the situation.

 _How have I ended up in a bloody_ situation _with my sergeant?_

“I want you to stay.” The words were out before he had time to think about saying them.

“No, you don’t. You’re tired, and I shouldn’t have – “

“I know me own mind, Sergeant! I don’t need you to tell me what I want.” He hadn’t intended for that to sound so harsh, but the confusion he was unexpectedly contending with wasn’t conducive to maintaining an air of calm. He took a breath and softened, a wry smile touching his lips as he recognised the lie in the words. “Or perhaps I do.”

Even in the semi-darkness, Lewis saw the eyebrow hitch.

“This is all a bit new to me,” Lewis confessed. “You can hardly blame me for finding it difficult to believe that you honestly want…” He drew his hand back and scrubbed it over his face; the world had tilted beneath him and he was struggling to keep his balance. “I haven’t got this all wrong, have I? This _is_ what you want?”

“If I understood that correctly –“ just a hint of good-natured mockery “– then yes, it is.”

“Me?” Lewis sought clarification.

“You.”

Lewis fell silent, conflicted. On the one hand, James had ignited a flame inside him that, despite calling himself a detective, he hadn’t even known existed, a flame he wanted to feed. On the other, he was James’s superior officer and the lad was still young. What he could possibly want with Lewis was a mystery, but at least he seemed to know his own mind, unlike Lewis.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Lewis tentatively brushed his fingers over James’s shoulder, this time using the contact to assess his own feelings. It felt…right. That didn’t mean it made sense, but when did life ever make sense?

“I don’t know what you would want with an old bugger like me, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

James shifted slightly, Lewis’s hand falling away as he moved just out of reach. “It shouldn’t have to be an effort, sir.”

“No, man, that’s not what I meant.” How on Earth did James expect him to be perfectly eloquent at a time like this? Frustrated with his own deficiencies as well as James’s misunderstanding, Lewis pushed himself up into a sitting position, the duvet pooling in his lap. “You’re an infuriating sod, James Hathaway,” he sighed affectionately. “Look at me, will you, man.”

After a moment’s hesitation, James complied with the request as he would any simple order issued by his superior.

“I’ve never done this sort of thing before,” he admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat his cheeks. “I’ve not done much of anything, to be honest. Not since Val.” He reached out again and this time his fingers found James’s bare forearm. “If you’re willing to be a guide to this old codger, I’m more than happy to let you.”

“Less of the ‘old’, sir.”

“Less of the ‘sir’, James.”

The corner of James’s mouth twitched and Lewis knew he had succeeded in reassuring the man. “Now get on and bloody kiss me before I come to me senses.”

Lewis’s accompanying warm smile was all the evidence James needed that the threat was only a joke. Lewis was treated to a rare, unguarded smile, then James closed the gap between them and complied with the command, crushing his lips against Lewis’s in a surprising show of passion.

Lewis felt himself being lowered back down to the mattress and was powerless to resist. As soon as he was settled, with James poised above him, Lewis felt the lad’s tongue sweep across his bottom lip. His lips parted in an involuntary gasp that, from the way the questing tongue used the opportunity to slip through the newly opened barrier, Lewis assumed had been the reaction James had been seeking.

Lewis’s hands found their way to James’s waist, sliding under the t-shirt to play over warm, smooth skin. James pulled away briefly to pull the shirt off, dropping it over the side of the bed before tugging on Lewis’s pyjama top. Lewis froze, a flutter of self-consciousness in his stomach, but James didn’t give him the chance to voice a protest, easing the garment off and sending it after his own.

James’s head bowed again and all reservations were swiftly forgotten as Lewis felt lips at his jaw, tracing a path down his neck – indifferent to the day-old stubble – and on to his collarbone. Then they were teasing through the hairs on his chest, and when James flicked the tip of his tongue over the nub of a nipple, Lewis gave a huff of surprise at the resultant shock of pleasure it triggered.

For a few minutes, an eternity, he was lost in James Hathaway, before being jolted back to the present when James palmed his burgeoning erection through the cotton of his pyjama trousers.

“Fuck, James.” It was little more than a groan.

Lips curved into a smile against his stomach. “That was my intention, yes.”

Lewis didn’t have a comeback to that, but it seemed James didn’t require one; he was busy carefully peeling Lewis’s trousers down and Lewis automatically lifted his hips to help with their removal. Immediately they had been discarded in the same manner as their counterpart, James ran his tongue the length of Lewis’s cock, a damp trail along the underside that made Lewis shiver.

James moved back up the bed, lowering himself over Lewis so skin met skin. Lewis could feel James’s matching erection straining against his own but, maddeningly, the lad was still clothed from the waist down. James nuzzled into his neck, kissed the skin beneath his ear and nibbled at his ear lobe before raising his head again to fix Lewis with one of his earnest expressions. The tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips before he spoke.

“Will you…?”

 _Will I what?_ The words never left Lewis’s lips; he realised that, however James’s request had been going to end, the answer would always have been the same.

Unable to trust his voice, he nodded.

James’s eyes widened, darkened, and he pushed up from the bed, Lewis immediately yearning for his touch to return.

“Don’t move.”

Lewis wouldn’t have been capable of moving even had he wanted to. All he could do was lay there bonelessly, marveling at his own body’s reaction as James stepped into the bathroom only to reappear moments later.

Before climbing back onto the bed, James paused to remove his pyjama trousers, then settled himself on his back on the empty patch of mattress, shoving a pillow under his rump and bending his knees. Lewis was utterly captivated by every movement of the pale, slender body and long, graceful limbs and he was still staring when James rolled his head to the side to look at him.

“I don’t wish to offend, sir, but I doubt even you can reach from there.”

“Cheeky sod.” There was no heat in the retort, only affection, but James’s words had the desired effect, spurring Lewis into action - rising and relocating himself between his sergeant’s legs. James reached for him and drew him down into a pleasantly incongruous kiss, chaste and reverential, before taking his right hand in a proficient grip. Lewis heard the pop of a lid as James produced a tube of some kind of cream – evidently the item he had fetched from the bathroom.

Lewis watched James’s deft fingers work, squeezing the tube and spreading cream over Lewis’s own fingers. “These first,” he instructed as he completed his task and proceeded to guide Lewis’s hand down between his legs.

Lewis wanted to protest that when he’d said needed a guide, he hadn’t meant he required a bloody map, but he was too mesmerised by the lithe body and its languorous yet purposeful movements to feel any real offense. He succeeded in locating the puckered skin of his goal by himself, then paused, swallowing hard as he glanced at James’s face only to see an expression of trust and need. It almost took his breath away, but he just about retained full – or near enough – control of his faculties this time, and pushed a finger into James.

Muscles clenched around him and there was a sharp intake of breath from the bed. Lewis stopped, afraid he had gone too fast, hurt James.

“I’m okay.” To corroborate his assurance, James’s body began to relax, so Lewis continued, working in one finger, then another, until James was squirming beneath him.

“Oh, God…Please.”

“Patience is a virtue, Sergeant.”

“Not feeling at my most virtuous right now, sir.”

“No, I can see that.”

James gave a moan, low in his throat, and Lewis felt his cock twitch in response. No, he wouldn’t keep the lad – or himself – waiting any longer. He gently removed his fingers.

“Give us that stuff you’ve got there.”

James handed the tube of cream over readily. Lewis squeezed a liberal amount into his palm and quickly and efficiently slicked himself, rapidly losing the ability or inclination to carry on trading banter. He repositioned himself, one hand guiding his way until he was slowly pushing into James.

He went just a little way, and then paused, because, Christ, that had to hurt. James’s eyes were shut tight, his head pressed back into the pillow, but as soon as he registered that Lewis had stopped he opened his eyes again, affixing Lewis with a look of stern reproof that almost made Lewis laugh.

“Okay, okay.” Lewis took the hint and was rewarded with such an open, happy expression on the lad’s usually inscrutable face that he almost forget his own need for oxygen. James didn’t allow him to forget his current objective, however; long legs wrapped themselves around him, drawing him closer.

They quickly fell into a surprisingly adept rhythm, James meeting each of his thrusts, one hand twisted into the bedding, the other clutching at whatever part of Lewis he could find, his back arching to bring his own cock into contact with Lewis’s stomach.

Lewis’s muscles began to quiver from the exertion and the effort. _I’m getting too old for this_ , he thought, then immediately dismissed the notion as James had earlier instructed, realising it was the most welcome exhaustion he had ever suffered. He remained transfixed by the look of ecstatic abandon on the lad’s bonny features, unable to tear his gaze away even as his balls tightened and he teetered on the edge of release.

James sensed it; the lad bucked up against him, head thrown back revealing every sinew of his neck, and Lewis felt the damp evidence of his climax as muscles contracted around him and pulled him over the precipice.

As his senses fought their way back through pulsing, throbbing lights, Lewis became aware of arms wrapped tightly around his back, lips pressed softly to his forehead, and he wanted to remain in that moment forever. Reality wasn’t that considerate, however.

“You’ll have to let me go, pet, or I’ll collapse on top of you.”

James huffed a laugh. “Not the worst way to go, I suppose.”

“Maybe not, but think of what it’d do to poor Innocent when she has to come and claim our bodies."

"'All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses, And to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.'"

Lewis snorted, a sound that was part laughter, part long-suffering sigh, and jabbed James in the ribs with an elbow. The incorrigible lad laughed softly, but released Lewis from his embrace. Lewis gently slipped from James, dropping to the bed beside him.

James rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand. The fingers of his free hand busied themselves playing lightly through Lewis's chest hair.

Lewis studied James, contemplating this new territory. It felt like he had departed the ordered universe he had grown so comfortable in and was now floating into the unknown. He found he didn't mind; with James as his anchor, he would quite happily remain there forever.

"Okay, sir?"

"Aye, pet. Well, I will be if you stop calling me 'sir' in bed."

The corner of James's mouth twitched, signaling one of those secret smiles of his that Lewis loved to share. "Sorry. Habit. I'll endeavour to break it."

"Good. Now, are you going to let me get some sleep so I'll at least have a tiny chance of staying awake tomorrow?"

"I'd hate to keep you from your beauty sleep."

Lewis didn't mind the gentle ribbing; there was a distinct lack of a 'sir' at the end of that sentence, which spoke volumes.

James flashed him a grin and rescued their duvet, drawing it up over the both of them before snuggling up against Lewis's side. Lewis feared that even if he somehow managed to remain awake during the seminars that awaited him, his mind was likely to be focused elsewhere. He wrapped an arm tightly around James, his eyelids drooping shut, content.

It seemed this trip wasn’t going to be as dull and tedious as he had imagined. Sometimes old dogs welcomed new tricks.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Transformation' was the theme of the event I attended - it seemed fitting to use it at the title for this story.
> 
> Similarly, the long car journey, the beer, the hotel room, and the 'seventies cop show' Lewis watches are all inspired by actual events (and a midnight episode of _The Professionals_!). That is where the similarities end, for I sadly didn't have Hathaway for company.
> 
> Oh, and James quotes Walt Whitman.


End file.
